


Conflict of Interest

by sarahyellow



Series: OmegaHouse [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Awkward Tension, Complicated Relationships, Corporal Punishment, Friends to Enemies, Love/Hate, Omega Steve Rogers, Slow Burn, Spanking, Underage Drinking, War Veteran Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 16:08:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12236199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow
Summary: Much to Steve Roger's chagrin, a handsome new alpha is assigned to his hall at the Brooklyn Heights OmegaHouse.





	Conflict of Interest

It’s dark out by the time they exit the theater. Linden Boulevard’s streetlamps don’t make too much of a difference, and Steve has to squint against the darkness that’s a stark contrast from the brightly-lit cinema they’ve just left. But the night air is warm—it’s June now—and Clint takes his arm right outside the doors anyway, as if he knows that Steve is momentarily blinded worse than the rest of them.

Music from the theater’s lobby pours out into the night, following them like the waft of some cultured dame’s perfume. Clint is laughing at something inane that Peter’s said and Steve can’t help but to roll his eyes. Peter Parker is new to the House, barely fourteen years old. He’s turning out to be quite the goofball and Steve has no idea why Clint—the leader of their social group—agreed to bring him along. Heck, even Steve feels out of place, and he’s seventeen.

All the guys and girls are arguing good-naturedly about what they’ll do this evening, now that the picture’s over. Clint shuts everybody up, saying that since they’ve all got dates lined up who want to dance, that’s what they’re going to do. “Well what about Steve and me?” Peter, who’s placed himself at Clint’s side, says. “You got dates for us?”

“It’s Steve and _I_ ,” Steve says moodily. Nobody hears the quiet correction.

“What?” Clint laughs. “You?” He shoves Peter lightly, and the group laughs. Peter takes it in stride though. “You’re lucky just to be tagging along, kid. You’re the lookout, remember?” 

Behind them, Peter (Quill, not Parker) chuckles. “Yeah,” he half-slurs, having begun the night’s drinking before everyone else. “You gotta learn how to get around, otherwise Rumlow’ll keep you locked up like Rapunzel.” He’s referring, of course, to their hall alpha from the House: Brock Rumlow. 

Steve cringes at the mention of the man’s name. They’re all going to be in a heap of trouble if they get caught staying out past curfew, which is what they’re well on the way to doing. He gets Clint’s attention and murmurs, “Yeah maybe this isn’t the best idea. The movie was nice. Why don’t we just call it a night? Go home and… play scrabble or something.”

Clint rolls his eyes and hugs Steve closer to his side. “Don’t start Rogers,” he warns. “Don’t you want to dance with some pretty dames? Handsome guys?”

“Come on Clint. We both know ninety minutes with Veronica Lake’s all the action I’m getting tonight.” 

Clint pinches him roughly on the arm, making Steve scowl but also shutting him up. “Don’t be such a downer Steve,” he scolds, pushing him away only half as roughly as he had Peter. “Now come on. This is the first time in forever that none of us’ been locked away, _and_ we managed to slip past Brock’s radar. We are GOING to have a good time!” 

The whole gang whoops and hollers in agreement to Clint’s statement, and Steve gets bustled along down the sidewalk with everyone else, whether he wants to or not.

\---oOo---

They wind up at a dance hall not far from the 9th street library, and the intimidating sight of all the pretty girls and guys bustling about outside makes Steve with they could just go to the library instead. He’s just finished _A Tale of Two Cities_ and could stand to find something new. But Quill has already bustled forward and grabbed somebody he knows. It’s some alpha girl and she’s got a whole gaggle of friends, and before Steve can blink everybody’s introducing themselves and pairing off. Steve winds up next to a beta girl who looks less than pleased with her luck. “Steve,” he offers awkwardly. 

Her lips purse. “…Emily.” She’s obviously not interested in him, but Steve offers her his arm anyway. She takes it and they follow the others inside.

The Andrews sisters are blasting through speakers at full volume as they enter, that night’s band having apparently taken a break. One of the girls shouts something happy at the song and pulls Clint onto the dance floor, Darcy, Quill and their dates following not long after. Though he’s more inclined to head straight for the bar, Steve attempts a smile at his date. “Wanna dance?” he asks. Emily frowns.

“Hey gorgeous.” Another man has come round and fixes Emily with a smile. “I remember you! You’re looking bored. Let’s swing!” 

Steve opens his mouth to say something rude, but Emily beats him to the punch. She disentangles herself from Steve and takes the other man’s hand, throwing back an unconcerned “You don’t mind, right Sid?”

“It’s… Steve,” he says, petering off lamely as the familiar sting of being turned down by someone else creeps over him. He sighs, scrubs a hand over his face, and heads for the bar after all. 

\---oOo---

“You by yourself?” is the first thing the bartender says when he turns around and sets his eyes on who’s ordered the whiskey, neat.

Steve resists rolling his eyes. He doesn’t want the guy to spit in his drink. “Yep,” he says, trying to be polite. He’s already pulled two dollars from his pocket. “That a problem?”

The man raises his eyebrows. “You look young.”

Steve’s tries to level as hard a stare as he can manage. “I’m old enough.”

The bartender just scoffs. “Fucking kids,” he grumbles, turning and moving down the way to make drinks for other patrons. Steve is left standing, money in hand and no drink to speak of. 

Beside him, Steve hears a chuckle. His eyes dart to the side, catching the tail end of a dark-haired stranger’s smile. It’s a man—alpha, if his scent is anything to go by. And he’s handsome as all get out. “Tough luck kid,” the stranger drawls, and Steve feels his stomach swoop. The only thing worse than being made fun of, is being made fun of by someone who’s particularly good-looking, which this guy is. 

“Do you mind?” Steve scowls rudely. He can’t help it. With no date and no drinks, this evening is going to become boring awfully fast. 

The stranger shrugs, not looking much put-off. “Not at all.” He flags down the bartender and orders himself a beer and a whiskey, neat. Steve can only gape as both are easily delivered, and the man shoves the lowball glass down the bar at him. “Little strong for a fifteen year old though, huh?” he smirks. “Unless you’re Irish or somethin’.”

Steve frowns. “You shouldn’t make fun of people.” 

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. And I’m not Irish.” Well, his mother was. But he doesn’t count himself because he doesn’t want this stranger to think he’s such a clever guy. “And I’m not fifteen.”

Mr. Handsome cocks another grin. “Oh yeah?”

“Seventeen.”

“A real-live grown up, then?” The stranger shakes his head, laughing privately into the first sip of his beer. “Jesus.”

“You know what?” Steve huffs, mood turned sour. “Screw you.” He pushes away from the bar, making to leave. But Mr. Handsome grabs his wrist. Surprised, Steve looks back.

“—Hey, wait…” he seems surprised that Steve has turned back to listen, and his next words are less planned out. “I actually don’t drink whiskey so…” he looks pointedly at the abandoned glass. “You might as well take it.”

Steve’s lips are pursed, but he relaxes some as he realizes that the guy is offering him free booze when he could’ve just gone ahead used it to try and scoop up the next omega to walk by. Slowly, Steve moves back to the bar. He scoots out a stool and plunks himself down. “Thanks,” he says slowly. “I guess.”

He earns another smile for that. Steve thinks that this guy smiles too easily. Or maybe Steve doesn’t smile enough. Either way, it’s a mismatch between the two of them. “I’m Bucky,” the stranger says. He holds out his hand in a surprise gesture. Steve can’t remember the last time an alpha offered to shake his hand. His opinion of Bucky rises marginally as he extends his own hand. 

“Steve.”

“Nice to meet you Steve. And just for the record: I wasn’t tryin’ to make fun of you.”

Steve huffs his disbelief, but pulls the lowball glass closer to himself, like a peace offering. He takes a sip of it. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Bucky scoots his stool a little closer. “Who would make fun of you?”

Steve snorts. “Really? Just about anyone. I mean look at me.” He pauses to make his point but Bucky doesn’t go on ahead and agree with him. Instead, he leans his arm on the bar, real close to where Steve’s is. And Steve wonders when he decided to scoot sideways…

“I am looking at you,” Bucky says. His eyes do a slow up and down of Steve where he sits, and there is nothing mocking in the way that he stares at Steve when their gazes meet again. “Don’t see anything I want to make fun of.”

It’s at this point that Steve realizes he’s being flirted with. He figures he can’t be blamed for being so slow on the uptake. Being flirted with is strangely similar to being teased. He has far more experience with the latter, and the former is much harder to come up with a reaction to. “Um…” Anger Steve can do. Indignation and the occasional fistfight, sure. But flattery? Bucky’s handsome face? The blush that’s quickly spreading up Steve’s neck? It’s harder to decide quite what to do with that. “Okay?” 

Bucky laughs as if he’s said something truly funny, and claps his hand over Steve’s on the bar. “Okay. Yeah. I like you Steve.” He’s still chuckling to himself as he drinks more from his beer, and Steve can’t do anything but stare at the sight of Bucky’s lips as they wrap around the end of the bottle, the angle of his jaw as he tilts his head back, and the curve of his throat as he swallows… Steve thinks that there’s no way in hell he’s not going to make a fool of himself tonight.

“So,” Bucky says when he’s brought the beer down and set it back onto the bar. Steve has taken a hold of his free whiskey and is braving a few fast sips. Hopefully it’ll calm his nerves soon because Bucky’s arm is still on the bar, and his pinky finger is _almost_ touching Steve’s now. “You here with anyone?”

Steve is taken aback by the question. He can’t decide if Bucky is asking because he’s interested, or because he thinks omegas shouldn’t be out alone. “I’m with a group of friends,” Steve says. “And an alpha.” He didn’t have to point out that last bit, but he wants to see what Bucky will say. If he even remotely asks about the chaperone, Steve is getting up and walking away.

But he doesn’t. In fact he chuckles again. “Okay,” he says. “I get it. I was young once too.”

Steve laughs because he thinks it’s meant to be a joke. Bucky’s lack of reaction shows that it wasn’t. “What?” Steve asks. “How old could you possibly be?” Bucky looks a little older, sure, but not—

“Twenty five.”

“That’s not so old.”

Bucky shrugs. “S’older than it used to be.” He doesn’t elaborate, and Steve is left to wonder what the heck _that_ means. “So, Steve,” Bucky says, changing the subject. “You seem like the independent type. What do you do? You still in school?”

Steve shakes his head. “Mostly work-study now. I could’ve graduated early last year but…” He shrugs. “High school is free. College isn’t. I like art a lot. So I’m taking any art course I can until graduation.”

“Art, huh?” Bucky looks interested and Steve is pleased. “You any good?”

Steve grins wide. His art is one of the few things that he is really, truly proud of. “Yep. Very good.”

“Braggart.”

“You asked!” Steve is smiling and the funny thing is he can’t remember when he started. “What about you?” he asks. “Do have a job or do you just hang around bars, ordering drinks for underage guys?”

“Ah, for now this is all I do.” Bucky looks down at his lap, averting his gaze for the first time. “I uh, I was in the army. But the war’s over now,”

“Thank god,” Steve murmurs.

“Yeah,” Bucky nods. “So I’ve just been, you know, acclimating back to real life this last year. It’s not easy. But I’m starting a new job next week. I didn’t really have a chance to look for work before that.” He shifts his left arm, and from beneath the unrolled shirtsleeve peeks a silver hand. 

Steve’s eyes go wide. He hadn’t noticed that. He’s never seen anything like it. “Wow,” he says, reaching out to touch it before he can think better of it. His fingers just barely brush cool metal when he remembers himself and pulls back. “Sorry, I… that was rude.”

“Naw,” Bucky tells him. “You can touch it.” Steve glances up at him and sees that Bucky is watching him carefully. Steve gets the sense that maybe most people don’t get this invitation to touch. Reaching out again, he lets his fingertips touch Bucky’s metal ones. The material, whatever it is, is cool and smooth and formed into interlocking plates. Steve runs his fingers up the back of the hand and watches, fascinated, as Bucky’s hand twitches. 

“You can feel that?” Steve asks in wonder.

Bucky gives him a sad smile. “Yeah.”

Steve finally takes Bucky’s whole hand in his, turning it over and seeing his palm, the bend of his wrist. It’s completely natural, like Bucky’s just dipped his hand in mercury. “How do you…” He peters off, amazed. He’s seen amputees before; veterans of the war. But it’s been all wood and plastic and stiff arms with hooks. Nothing like this. “It’s amazing,” he says instead. “How?”

“You know that Howard Stark guy? His design.”

“Oh.” Steve has read about the billionaire in the paper before. Bucky hasn’t pulled away and Steve takes the liberty of pushing the sleeve up a few inches past his wrist. “How far does it go?” he breathes.

“Wouldn’t _you_ like to know.” When Steve looks up in surprise, Bucky is smirking suggestively.

“Oh! I just meant—”

“—Lost it at the shoulder,” Bucky supplies, pulling his hand away to roll the sleeve back down as far as it’ll go. Steve figures the conversation is over. “All I care is everything still works.” He tilts his beer back and finishes it off, and he stands from his stool abruptly. “So, you wanna dance?”

Steve’s eyes must go comically wide. “Oh, ah I don’t actually know how?”

“What the heck are you doing in a dance hall then?”

Steve shrugs and picks up his whiskey for another sip. “Good question. That’s why I’m at the bar.”

Bucky waits until Steve has set his glass back down again before he pulls him by the hand off his own seat. Steve isn’t prepared and Bucky catches him mid-stumble, both hands settling at Steve’s waist. Steve inadvertently breathes him in; he smells like something weathered and spicy. Either he’s wearing a very expensive cologne, or Steve’s _very_ attracted to his pheromones. 

Bucky kisses his cheek like it's no big deal and pulls Steve onto the dance floor with that same, trademark grin, and Steve thinks maybe it’s a bit of both.

\---oOo---

They dance for a little bit (well, at least Bucky does), before Steve insists that they stop. He is making a fool of himself and besides that, doesn’t want to admit that he’s winded from less than ten minutes of attempting the Lindy. Bucky goes over to the bar to get another drink for each of them and that’s when Clint appears, wide-eyed and with the guys and girls from their hall rushing behind him. “There you are!” he says, sounding winded himself. “We gotta go.”

“What?” Steve glances back to the bar, but it’s crowded and he can’t see Bucky. “Why?”

“Why?” Quill laughs in a sort of manic way. “Guess who we just saw?”

“It’s not funny Quill!” This from Darcy, who looks just about as panicked as Clint. She catches Steve’s eye and says, “Brock’s here.”

“Shit.”

“We’ve got to go,” Clint repeats, and already he’s grabbing Steve by the arm, likely assuming that he’s been a wallflower this whole time. “Jesus Rogers, you’re sweaty!” Steve grunts as he’s pulled along, hardly able to look back for Bucky. They all rush toward the doors and emerge outside. The cool air is a relief to Steve but nobody stops to stand still. Clint is making sure their pace stays fast as they head down the sidewalk. “Come on kid!” he yells back at Peter, who’s dragging. “Nobody’s gonna carry you ya know!” 

Steve hoofs it to keep up with the group, not wanting to hold anybody back either. Apparently Rumlow was _IN_ the dance hall, and that is more than a close call. He’d _seen_ them. Crap, Steve thinks, wondering if the alpha spotted him: drinking and dancing with an older guy. He hopes not. Their hall alpha’s got a mean streak a mile wide and Steve has no desire to be caught up in it. They hurry home, everybody hoping that they can make it back to the House and avoid being caught. 

Steve doesn’t even get the opportunity to think about Bucky again until he’s back in his bed, Clint snoring on the other side of the room.

\---oOo---

It’s Monday morning, and the Brooklyn Heights OmegaHouse has been abuzz with gossip all weekend. It’s worst on Steve’s hall, which makes sense since it’s _their_ alpha who’s being replaced. Exactly _why_ Brock Rumlow is being reassigned to another hall depends on who you talk to. Quill will tell anyone who listens that he heard Brock is having a "thing"with an omega on the hall he’s being transferred to. Clint says that it’s related to some anonymous person’s claims of abuse. Darcy, usually very involved in such gossip, remains suspiciously quiet about the whole thing. Steve is just glad they’re getting a new alpha.

That is until he meets him.

“Alright everybody, calm down.” Sam is standing at the front of the hall’s common area, trying to quiet them. Steve and Clint have claimed one of the large armchairs for the occasion, and are squished together there at the hip. If Steve wasn’t so slight, they wouldn’t fit there at all. At their feet sit Peter and Wanda. Everyone’s gathered to meet the new hall alpha, and they’re buzzing with chatter and excitement. Nobody is exactly sad that Rumlow left, and there’s still a bet going between Clint and Quill if one of them can figure out what happened there. “Your new alpha is named James, and I want you all to be respectful and welcoming. _Please_ ,” Sam adds with a beleaguered smile. Everybody chuckles at the request. Sam is one of the more popular alphas at OmegaHouse, and commands a good rapport with just about everybody. He treats them like real people. Steve likes him for that. Sam glances back over his shoulder at the sound of approaching footsteps. “Alright you guys, here he is. James Barnes!” Sam steps aside so that said person can introduce himself.

Steve feels like time grinds to a halt.

The man before them is Bucky. Bucky is James. James is their new alpha. Steve fucking flirted and _danced_ with his new hall alpha; the man who has now, apparently, been made Steve’s government-issued guardian. 

Fuck.

“Hello,” James is introducing himself with a smile and a wave. Sam has a hand clapped on his shoulder like they’re old friends, and for all Steve knows they are. Bucky— _James_ now, apparently—doesn’t seem to notice Steve right away. His blue eyes float over the twenty or so people gathered in the common area. “I’m um, from New York originally,” James tells them. “Not far from here actually.”

“What neighborhood?” somebody asks.

“Red Hook.” A few people murmur their recognition. Steve is still sitting there, terrified of the moment when James will look over and recognize him. “And I’m completely new to OmegaHouse; never worked at one before. I went straight into the army after high school.” He grins at them. “So take it easy on me, yeah?” Sam laughs and tells James that he just invited the wolves to dinner, making everyone else laugh too. 

Steve doesn’t laugh.

\---oOo---

That evening at dinner, Steve rolls his eyes as the people around him talk. The topic of conversation has been the same ALL DAY. The omegas on his hall all think that James is _sooo_ handsome. And the few that don’t swing both ways think he’s a “cool” guy. It’s all anybody can talk about. To Steve’s left, Clint and Wanda are trying decide who’s now the most attractive alpha at OmegaHouse. Wanda says that it’s not even a competition; James has everyone beat, easily. Clint still thinks it’s Natasha. Steve tries to eat his mashed potatoes without interrupting but winds up dropping his fork in frustration when they just. won’t. stop. 

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” he says, cutting in. 

Heads turn his way. “What?” Wanda looks amazed. “Are you blind?”

Steve frowns, regretting having spoken at all. He fixes his attention back to his dinner, taking a grumpy bite. “I just don’t think he’s anything special,” he says after chewing. “Isn’t there something more interesting we could be talking about?”

“What about his arm?” someone down the table suggests. This gets several people excited.

“Oh yeah! How do you think that happened?”

“I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Steve winds up finishing dinner in his room.

\---oOo---

Steve makes it all the way until the next morning until James notices him. Everyone on the hall has to go to the hall alpha’s office for  
a short little “get to know you.” Clint comes back from his meeting in a swell mood, and he tells Steve that he should take a chill pill and be nice to the guy. “I don’t know why you don’t like him. He seems fine to me,” Clint says. “Definitely an improvement over Brock.” 

Steve grunts in dismissal as he heaves himself off his bed where he’s been waiting. Now that Clint’s back, it’s his turn to head down the hallway and say “hello” to their new guardian. Only it won’t be hello for him. It’ll be “nice to see you again.” Steve feels dread fill him like sand, making his shoes heavy as he walks down the hallway towards Brock’s old office and James’ new one. Being placed into state custody just because he’s an omega and doesn’t have any alpha relatives to look after him has always rubbed Steve the wrong way. Sure, he was orphaned at fifteen, but he has a beta aunt _and_ a distant beta cousin who both would’ve been more than happy to watch over him until he came of age. Instead he’s locked up here, deemed unable to look after himself no matter what his age, and placed in the care of a complete stranger. 

_Well_ , his mind corrects, _not a stranger this time_. Because this time he knows his guardian, has met him before, and it burns Steve up that some handsome fellow he flirted with in a bar is now going to get that power over him. A power that nobody but Steve should have anyway. He rounds the corner into James’ office with a stone set to his face, determined that he is going to pretend that he has no idea who the man is. 

James is half-sitting against the windowsill when Steve enters, and his expression morphs into one of clear recognition the second he sees him. “Steve,” he utters. “It’s… you. You’re the Steve Rogers on this hall?”

Steve raises his eyebrows to show what a stupid question he thinks that is. Of _course_ he’s the Steve Rogers on this hall. “Why the heck else would I be standing here right now?” he snarks. 

James looks taken aback. His lips part as if he’s going to say something, but decides against it. Instead he moves to sit down at the little desk that he has Steve’s paperwork all spread out on. “Well we’re supposed to get to know each other a little here,” he jokes, “but I suppose we’ve already done that, right?” His tone is light, friendly, and clearly he doesn’t think it’s at all awkward that the two of them have found themselves in this situation. Steve decides to clue him in.

“You might want to keep it to yourself that you’ve met me before,” he says stiffly. “It’s kind of inappropriate, don’t you think, _Alpha_?”

James pauses, taking note of Steve’s tone. He glances thoughtfully at him. “Yes, maybe you’re right. It was pretty late when I met you at that bar after all. …I’ve been told that curfew around here is ten o’clock for kids your age.”

Steve grits his teeth together. “I’m not a kid.”

James stares. “Actually yeah. You are.” He looks marginally less friendly now, having tuned in to Steve’s mood. 

“Not too young to have some guy buy me drinks and fuck around with me.”

James frowns. “You don’t know what ‘fucking around’ is. How was I supposed to know you were in state care? You SAID you were at the bar with a guardian.”

“I said I was there with an alpha. We had an alpha in our group.” Steve may not have spoken much—or at all—to Quill’s date, but she’d been there. James looks unimpressed. “So your name isn’t Bucky,” Steve says, pretense of not remembering James completely abandoned.

“James _Buchanan_ Barnes,” James points out. “It’s a nickname my friends call me.”

Steve nods briskly. He moves over and seats himself in the diminutive chair on the other side of the desk. “Well then, _James_ , what do we have to discuss?”

For a brief second, hurt flashes across the other man’s face. But then he hides it away. Steve supposes this means that he’s met his mark. Maybe it’s not nice to be so hostile when all the other man had done was drink and dance with him, but Steve can’t help it. He HATES being in state custody and he resents any alpha who has the nerve to think they have authority over him just because of their designation. James clearly is of this opinion, since he accepted a job offer to work at OmegaHouse in the first place.

James shuffles the papers from Steve’s file over and regards them more closely. “Well,” he says. “For one thing, Mr. Rumlow has it marked here that you’re a bit of a discipline problem. Care to explain that?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Rumlow’s a real jerk. He gets off on punishing us. I’ve never done anything that bad.”

“Two years in the system and already you’ve had…” James checks, “Nine infractions? Let’s see: insubordination, stealing, drinking, sneaking out—we both know those two are valid—disrespecting House staff, skipping school, smuggling in animals, _brawling_ and… highjacking a House-owned vehicle?” He scoffs at Steve when he’s done. “‘Not that bad’, huh?” 

Steve isn’t sure what the alpha wants him to say. Most of the teenagers at the House sneak around and misbehave to some extent. And Steve is best friends and roommates with Clint Barton, of all people. How the heck is he supposed to avoid trouble with a setup like that? Besides, it sounds way worse on paper. “I don’t start fights,” he points out, “I just don’t back down from them. And the car thing wasn’t my fault.”

Now it’s James’ turn to roll his eyes. “Well that’s reassuring.” He looks back down to the paperwork. “It also says here you have a lot of health problems.”

“Oh, here we go.”

“Poor eyesight, poor hearing, arrhythmia, anemia and…” James glances up in surprise. “You haven’t had a heat?”

Steve glowers at him. “That’s none of your goddamn business.”

“Language,” James warns him. “And it’s completely my business. I’m in charge of your welfare.”

Steve launches himself from his chair, leaning menacingly over the desk even though James looks completely unthreatened. “I don’t want you to be!” he snaps. “And I _certainly_ don’t need you to be.”

“Is that so?” James asks. He’s folded his arms behind his head. “You’re very opinionated, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. And if you can’t see how messed up this all is then you’re a real jerk, _James_ Barnes.” Steve turns around and walks abruptly out of the office, resolute that he is never, ever going to refer to his hall alpha as “Bucky,” again.

\---oOo---

That night, Steve can’t sleep due to thinking— _fuming_ , is more like it—about his new hall alpha. Okay, he reasons as he lies there, so maybe he hadn’t been the friendliest to the guy during their little “meeting”, but James hadn’t had to then go and be an authoritative dick about it. Steve has every right to be incensed that a man of only twenty five, someone who should, to most intents and purposes, be his equal in society, is now legally responsible for him. It’s ridiculous.

By the time Steve glances over and sees that midnight has somehow become four AM, he flings his blanket off and decides to go take advantage of what will undoubtedly be an empty bathroom at this hour of the night. 

Only it isn’t

Steve can hear the sound of water running the moment he enters, steam coming through the open doorway that leads from the sink area to the shower area of the bathroom. With his towel about his waist and his shower caddy in hand, he makes his way in to see who the heck else would possibly be up at this hour. His eyes land on someone’s naked back and before he can stop himself he loses his grip on his shower caddy, giving away the fact that he’s standing there at all. 

James twists around before Steve can slip out of sight. He is completely naked and— _wow_. “Steve?” he says, voice echoing off the tile walls. He looks nonplussed. In fact, he chuckles after a minute and turns away, putting his near-perfect butt back on display. “Now _this_ is awkward.”

“What are you doing in here?” Steve blurts, trying to keep his eyes carefully averted from the indecent sight of the alpha in front of him. Never mind that Steve is embarrassed to be seen wrapped up in nothing but his thin towel. James is naked and downright flaunting it. Steve glances around the room, not spotting another towel anywhere in sight. “You’re naked,” Steve says dumbly.

“Usually how it’s done,” James drawls. 

“This is _our_ bathroom!”

“I know,” James says, continuing to wash himself like it’s no big deal. Steve gapes. 

“Well get out!”

“Give me a minute and I will,” James throws over his shoulder, leaning further into the spray of the water to soak his hair. His arms are braced against the tile wall and Steve can’t help it; he stares at all of the corded muscle that is visible beneath the wet skin of James’ back. He’s formed perfectly, save for the scars that frame the edge of his metal arm. Steve’s eyes flick over the lines of it, fascinated by the way metal fuses so neatly with flesh. “You could take a picture,” James says, voice cutting through the room’s echo like a whip. “It’d last longer.”

Steve feels his face go hot, realizing that he’s just standing there like a gobsmacked moron. He bends to pick up his shower caddy, careful not to let his towel fall from around his hips. “This is our shower,” he repeats, walking over to the showerhead that is directly next to James’. He stands just outside the perimeter of where the water reaches, making sure to stare at James’ eyes and nothing else. “You’re not supposed to be in here. Get out.”

Cool blue eyes slide over to regard Steve. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“N…no,” Steve stumbles over the word but firms his jaw. “But it’s against the rules. What are you doing in here anyway?”

For the first time, James looks embarrassed. He averts his eyes, saying, “My water got turned off.”

“Water?” Steve repeats, unable to keep from watching as the other man turns the shower spray off and uses his hands to sluice the water from his long hair. 

“At my apartment, genius.” James has turned away and is walking back to the part of the bathroom where the sinks are. It’s over there where he’s left a towel for himself, apparently. He rubs it against his face before wrapping it around his hips. Then his eyes flick up to regard Steve in the mirror that hangs over the sink. “I’ve been… struggling, to say the least. Getting this job’s kind of saved my ass.”

Steve licks his lips, not knowing what to say. “But your water’s been turned off.”

“Yeah well, payday’s Friday so until then…” he trails off, looking cautiously at Steve’s reflection in the mirror. “Until then, can you keep this to yourself?”

Steve is surprised to find himself wanting to say yes right away. He knows that he should hold onto his righteous indignation towards James from earlier in the day, but something about the way he’s looking at him right now is so vulnerable. It makes Steve feel sorry for him. “Yeah,” he says softly, giving a nod. “Sure.” 

James’ features soften in the mirror. He looks relieved. Turning around, he smiles gratefully at Steve. “Thank you.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something, thinks better of it, but winds up blurting it out anyway. “Look, I’m sorry I was rude earlier, in your office.” James raises his eyebrows, clearly ready to listen, and Steve flushes. “I get that it’s just a job, what you’re doing. But I’ve been forced to live here since I was fifteen and I’m tired of other people telling me what to do.”

“Alphas, you mean,” James fills in, and Steve nods reluctantly.

“Yeah. Alphas like you. So I guess I took it out a little on you. My frustration that is.”

James shrugs, looking unfairly handsome as he does it. “I get it. No hard feelings?” Steve has to steel himself to say “yes”, but he manages, and the broad smile that splits James’ face makes it totally worth the concession. “Good,” James says. There’s a pause, an awkward moment where they’re both openly looking at each other and saying nothing. Steve doesn’t miss the way that James’ eyes flick up and down his body. Twice. He seems to pull himself together though, and straightens up. “Well I won’t bother you anymore.” He nods towards the showers, indicating that Steve should get on with what he’d come into the bathroom for in the first place. “See you later, Steve.”

“Yeah,” Steve echoes, watching as he goes. He’s still appreciating what he can see of the other man’s form as the door leading out to the hallway swings shut, cutting off the view. It’s only then that Steve realizes he’s gotten back to staring, and he clenches his eyes shut. Crap. “Get a hold of yourself Rogers,” he admonishes quietly. It won’t do for him to go getting a crush on his hall alpha, after all. No good can come of that.

\---oOo---

The next day Quill pops his head into Steve and Clint’s room. He tosses Clint a roll of dollar bills—Steve assumes for some bet that they’ve made. “You win,” he tells Clint, before turning his attention to Steve. “Boss man wants to see you,” he tells him. It takes Steve a moment to realize that Quill means James, and he sets the magazine he’s been perusing to the side as he stands from his bed. Quill takes his place as soon as he’s up, starting up some conversation with Clint that doesn’t involve Steve.

Steve walks down to where James’ office is. He goes in without apprehension, assuming James just wants to thank him again for his discretion with the shower matter. Imagine his surprise then, when he rounds the corner into the office and finds James sitting behind his desk with a schooled expression, Rumlow standing at his side. Steve stops in his tracks, eying them both warily now. “What’s going on?” he asks.

Rumlow looks happy. That alone should warn Steve about what’s happening. Steve hasn’t seen the man since the week before, when he’d been reassigned to another hall. He speaks up, pointing to a piece of paper that he’s apparently handed over to James. “Just making sure nothing falls through the cracks because of my transition.”

“Your ‘transition’?” Steve asks pointedly, hopeful that he can get Brock to reveal something about that. He _knows_ that Quill would grant him some sort of favor for that juicy tidbit. “Why’d you leave in the first place?” he asks, not entirely un-smug. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Rumlow returns. He looks at James then. “So? You see that he needs to be punished.”

Steve steps forward in alarm. “Me?” He glares at Rumlow. “For what?! You’re not in charge here anymore.”

“No I’m not.” Rumlow looks entirely too satisfied, “But you snuck out after curfew on my watch, and I caught you.” Rumlow looks to James now. “I turned the paperwork in late Friday night, documenting the incursion,” he tells him.

James looks uncomfortably over to Steve, then back to Brock. “I don’t see why this is so important, Brock.” He gestures at Steve. “He’s got a fresh start with me as his alpha. Why don’t we just let this one go?” 

Steve breathes a sigh of relief, thinking that for once he can get away scot free. James is apparently on his side here. But Brock looks completely unsatisfied with that answer. He takes a step closer to James. “Look: I know you’re new around here so I’ll help you out. House rules mandate that he be disciplined for this.” He’s pointing at Steve by this point, and James looks torn. He glances over to Steve uncomfortably before turning back to Rumlow.

“He snuck out for a night on the town with his friends. I can use discretion in a matter of—”

Rumlow cuts him off, saying “I didn’t bother to include the little detail about how it was _you_ that I saw buying him drinks.” 

This gets James’ attention. His eyes sharpen. “What?”

“You heard me.” Rumlow looks smug. “I saw you getting him drunk and touching him.” 

James’s countenance darkens. “He wasn’t ‘drunk’, and we only danced.”

Brock shrugs, “House Administration might believe that, or they might believe what I tell them. But I’d hate to have to report you for both catching you fraternizing with one of your charges, _and_ for disregarding house rules concerning discipline. After all, you’ve _just_ started here.”

James is openly scowling now, and he stands from his seat at the desk, his posture confrontational. Brock, for his part, looks unconcerned. “What do you want?” James grits.

“Nothing outrageous,” Brock tells him. “Just do your job.” He gestures at Steve. “And punish him.”

“And what exactly would you suggest I do?” James spits. “Send him to his room?”

“To be with that trouble-making friend of his?” Rumlow laughs. “Of course not. We have much more effective ways of dealing with problem makers like Steve Rogers around here.”

“Like what?”

Brock looks over at Steve now, a sick smile on his face. “Corporal punishment.”

Steve scowls just as James says, “What now?”

Rumlow looks back over. “If this was me, I’d bend him over my knee and spank him.” 

James can’t seem to help it. He busts out laughing. Only until Rumlow shuts him up with a glare, that is. “Wait. You’re serious?” 

“I’ve done it on more than one occasion.” 

James’ smile slides right off his face. He looks over at Steve for confirmation, and Steve nods. “Well, I’m certainly not going to—”

Brock points right at him. “Either you do it or I’ll amend my report to say that you contributed to his delinquency the other night.”

James freezes, looking caught. After a moment Steve can see his jaw tighten, and Steve feels his stomach drop. “James,” he nearly whispers. When James doesn’t answer him, doesn’t _look_ at him, Steve knows he’s in trouble. “Alpha,” he tries, hoping that the title of respect will get him out of this. “Bucky, please…”

Rumlow is staring James down. “Do you want to keep your job or not?” he hisses.

James glares at him, but after nearly a full minute of the staring contest he looks down. Rumlow grins in satisfaction. “Steve,” James says. His voice is stiff but regretful. “Come over here.”

Steve doesn’t move for a second. He’s a little horrified by what’s going on. When he does move, he goes and stands right in front of Brock. The man isn’t his alpha anymore, but he’s still far taller than Steve. Steve glowers at him, not letting himself be intimidated in the slightest. “You’re a sadistic prick,” he tells him. “It’s pathetic.”

Disappointingly, Brock doesn’t react. He merely moves himself over to the chair on the other side of James’ desk, taking a seat there. He gestures indulgently to the other alpha. “Well?”

Steve looks at James, shaking his head minutely as if it will change the man’s mind. But any hope he has of avoiding this punishment is quickly extinguished by the stern look on James’ face. “I’m sorry, Steve,” he tells him. “It’s the rules.”

“Come on…” Steve tries, looking pained.

James looks away, resolute. “Bend over the desk Steve.”

Steve feels his disbelief turn to anger, hardening like a block of concrete in his stomach. He considers shouting, or cursing, or slapping him, but swallows down the temptation. It’ll only get him in more trouble. Instead he just mutters, “You’re all the same,” disgust in his voice. He sees the barely-there flinch in James’ face, even though he still doesn’t look at Steve. Steve scoffs, and beds over the side of the desk.  


It takes a few seconds and a prompting noise from Rumlow before James lands the first strike to Steve’s backside

\---oOo---


End file.
